Karma Is A Tough Mistress

No one has to tell me there’s a serious flaw deep within my brain. And it’s not a good flaw. I have many flaws that are manageable. They make up the bulk of my personality. But the one in my head tends to do things. Don’t worry, karma always swings back on my ass so I don’t get away with it. It’s just always interesting to see what it does. If by interesting you’re talking lucky I don’t get shot.

From 7:45 when someone accosted me in the Dunkin’ Donuts line until 5:03 when I pushed the last heaping hulk out of the building someone wanted something from me. At 5:06 I wanted two little things from others. I wanted a beer from my local dives bartender. And, this is where I started pushing it. I wanted to be left alone. No talk. No touch. No trouble. The first half of my desire came though with relative ease. In front of me was a cool, frosty beverage of my choice. The second part of my wish, however, was a little more difficult in obtaining. Actually, it was impossible.I knew it but a boy can wish, can’t he?

A guy leaves me alone for a few minutes before he says,

“Smile.”

Because I ignore people speaking I’m directly looking at I obviously had no trouble ignoring this gentleman.

“Hey, how come you never smile?”

This time it was much more difficult to ignore because he had crossed into the second T: Touch. I guess that left me no option but to take it upon myself to sally forth with the final T and cause a little trouble. I slowly turned towards the guy while sipping my beer. I didn’t say anything. I just stared. I find that this option often works to, if not leave me immediately alone, let them stammer a bit before leaving. Of course I’d enjoy the first option best but I’ll take whatever I can.

After an extended silence from me and a few stutter steps from him he didn’t leave. He asks his question again and tells me it takes more muscles to frown than smile. I tell him I’m not frowning, I had a stroke.

This causes a series of what I call WTF Blinks. They think they heard me correctly but there doesn’t seem to be much truth behind it so they start sending semaphores with their eyes. I never answer back. This one usually works.

I did say usually.

Once again he says I should smile more. I nod. I’m sure I don’t need happiness lessons from a guy who spends more time in this shithole than the owner. After my one beer I’m outta here. Sure, I’m going to have to get on a bus that’s going to be doubling as a cattle barge (don’t worry, I had my Mad Cow shots) but, after that, I’m off to a very happy and joyful home.

But that doesn’t stop my brain from wanting to get involved. That bastard seems to always want to get involved in shit.

“Thanks for your concern,” my evil head begins. “But smile means something very different to me than yourself. So I save it for those times when my girlfriend is Sucking My Immensely Large Erection. That means SMILE to me!”

Now I truly do not understand how or why things like that come out of my head without warning. I can’t say I don’t enjoy the ride but it still makes me ponder. Which I do on the cattle barge on my way home. I also wonder when karma will make me pay for my heads interaction.

Turns out I didn’t have to wait long at all.

I trudge up the hill commemorated in song and interpretive dance for the creation of ass luging to my home. I know I have a few chores to complete before I can fully relax but it’s good to be home.

“We have to pick her up.” My girlfriend says the first minute I’m in the house. I drop my things, feed the cats, scoop the shit and, within three minutes, we’re in the truck to go pick up her daughter.

And two friends.

Who we have to take to the mall.

Oh karma, why must thy be such a cruel mistress?

In case you’ve never been inside a small truck with three teenaged girls let me explain the sound level. Remember the time you got stuck in that garbage truck on metal object pick-up day? It was sort of like that. Just less melodic.

They’re talking about someone in their group they don’t like. Using a phrase from Dane Cook, they call her Karen. Cook says there’s someone in each group of friends no one likes. And her name is always Karen. This is their Karen.

They rip into her. They top her stories. They make fun of the hell which is her life. If she has to clean her room some else has to paint and put in a new floor. If she has to mow the lawn someone was forced to go to topiary school to create life-sized replicas of her family. This goes on until we get to the mall.

When the real fun begins.

They wander off as the adults gather in the bar. While holding the door open watching the girls get swallowed into the belly of the beast I look up and smile.

“Thanks, karma,” I think. “It was a little uncomfortable, like shoes too small on the wrong feet, but that was a just payback for my heads earlier transgression.”

Take it from me, never thank karma. She’s a Karen.

Just as we’re cracking our second beers, the cellphone rings. It’s the kid. Although she’s been told to give us ten minutes before necessitating pick-up, ha, who am I kidding? That request never works. We have to go and go now! There’s an emergency! Life and death! Information is gathered and the earth shattering disaster is one of the girls lost her cellphone. Although this happens all the time I don’t get it. These devices are more dear to these kids than their hearts. Without it the beat of life would cease to exist. How can they be lost with such frequency?

I’m pondering that as we’re finishing our now less relaxing beverages as her daughter comes in to tell us we have to go. The search is on and it’s of the utmost importance. They’ve already scoured the mall; called people in the last house they were at; alerted SWAT (Searching Wide After Telephone). But, so far, to no avail. To the best of her memory, she may have left it in the bathroom (which they’ve already searched).

To me, if that’s the best recollection I had, my search would have ended there. I’d have put the ‘I’m An Idiot’ sign around my neck and gone about my day. But that’s not what these kids need to do. The search has just begun.

But why, if all you’re going to do is walk around the mall dialing and redialing the lost appendages number, do we have to leave this comfy and beverage filled bar? Because it’s an emergency is the answer you will receive if you ever have the misfortune to be sucked into a cellphone cyclone.

When gathering information on the girl who lost the phone I laughed (to myself. Sometimes I bite down hard on my tongue so my brain doesn’t anger Karen, I mean, karma further). You see, earlier in this week I was sitting next to my girlfriends daughter when she got a call from this girl. Who, as was conveyed to me later, called because she’d dropped her cellphone into the toilet.

For the second time this month.

Damn!

“Did you tell her to look in the toilet?”

Oh! Dang! What horrible timing the bartender needing me to speak to her at that moment. It gave my brain that slight opening to blurt out those, well, let’s be honest, fucking funny words.

“This is not,” I am being chastised. “A laughing matter! This is serious!”

Now wait just a chicken plucking minute here. If memory serves, after giving her cellphone a second dip in the STD WC, she had to bring it to the cellphone store to get a new one because it was inoperable and that was funny. Yet, carelessly leaving it on the side of a sink is a traumatic event?

I guess this proves there is a difference between a dip and a dork.

Lest you think karma was done with me, you sure haven’t been paying attention. Karma made us leave the bar and wander aimlessly through the mall close behind a gaggle of girls with one sobbing uncontrollably.

For the next half an hour.

I swear, while walking past the bar for the third time, I saw Karen wave at me.

That bitch.

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2 responses to “Karma Is A Tough Mistress

  1. It’s not nice to fool with KAREN!!!

    KAREN it seems also works for the IRS!

  2. Chauvinist! Why does karma have to translate to Karen? Why not Karl? or Kenneth? Why is always a woman’s name?

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